A Family Christmas

by Katie Flynn

  Jane didn’t reply until both girls had checked their appearance in the long mirror by the door and left the hut. ‘Become pretty humdrum?’ she repeated. ‘The trouble is, ninety per cent of our work is simply ferrying various things from the docks to other ATS sections. In the early days it was more of a challenge, because we went much further afield.’

  Glenys nodded. ‘And now we know everything, the top brass is going to consult us,’ she said sarcastically. She pushed open the door to the administration block. ‘Well, we’ll know soon enough.’

  She tapped briefly on the door marked Sergeant Reeves and poked her head round it. The sergeant was sitting behind a large desk, with a pile of papers in front of him. He looked up, grinned and got to his feet. ‘Better late than never,’ he rumbled. ‘Go down the corridor until you come to Lecture Room Three and go in and sit down.’ He glanced at the clock on his desk. ‘The officer will be along in five minutes, so just sit quiet and wait.’

  He ushered them out of the room and Glenys nudged her friend. ‘Did you see those papers?’ she hissed. ‘Remember those tests? They didn’t tell us why we had to take them or what it was all about, but my intelligence paper was on top of the pile – I spilt some ink on it, and I recognised the blot.’

  But at that moment they reached Lecture Room No. 3 and went inside. The room was almost full, and a couple of the girls already seated murmured a greeting. One of them, a pretty redhead named Maisie who had done the physical fitness test in the same group as Glenys and Jane, asked them if they knew what was going on, but before they could answer the door behind her opened and an officer strode in, removing his cap as he did so to reveal short, curly blond hair which was exactly the same colour as his tiny toothbrush moustache. Glenys jumped to her feet and saluted, as did everyone else, and then obeyed the sergeant’s instruction to sit down once more. She knew the officer’s name was Captain Dorrington, and thought she had heard someone say he was with the Intelligence Branch, but he was often to be seen coming and going to the Officers’ Mess so she supposed he must be seconded to their regiment.

  The captain had acknowledged the forest of hands with a salute of his own so stiff and correct that she wanted to giggle, and now began to leaf through the pile of papers the sergeant had given him. Glenys seized the opportunity to hiss to Jane that you couldn’t help admiring his blond good looks, and then he began to speak.

  ‘Two or three weeks ago, a hundred young women between the ages of nineteen and thirty-five sat an intelligence test and then were put through an extremely rigorous programme to test their physical fitness. Some of those who passed the intelligence test failed the physical, but to our pleasure just over fifty of you – the young women in this room now – passed both intelligence and physical tests with flying colours. Congratulations.’ He smiled slightly, and for the first time Glenys realised that, despite his rank, he was probably no more than twenty-four or five. ‘Now, you must all realise that as the war progresses, the need for men on the front line increases. Many of you in the ATS are already doing men’s work: women have taken on the driving of heavy lorries, and almost a hundred per cent of our clerks, military police, PT instructors and telephonists are now women. And still the need for men on the front line becomes ever more urgent. So our thoughts have turned to the ack-ack batteries. The top brass consider that if we could find women strong enough and intelligent enough to work the searchlights there would be a great saving of manpower. You were the pick of those asked to sit the tests, and are the first to be offered the opportunity to go on a six-week training course on searchlights. Any questions?’

  A hand in the front row shot up. ‘Please, sir, what if we can’t start them great heavy generators? I’ve got a brother in the site just up the road from our house and he says it’s real hard; I doubt I’d be able to do it myself.’

  Captain Dorrington smiled thinly. ‘We’ve thought of that,’ he said. ‘A man will be given the task of starting the generators, and once they’re up and running we think you’ll be able to cope.’

  The girl, who had stood up to deliver her question, sank back into her seat and Glenys, highly daring, raised her own hand. ‘I’d like to give it a go, sir,’ she said, sounding far more confident than she felt. ‘But suppose we get through our training and go to a searchlight battery and find we can’t manage it; what then? Can we return to our previous jobs?’

  The captain exchanged a look with the sergeant which Glenys interpreted as being of the ‘poor little woman’ variety. ‘We don’t doubt your ability to do the job. The reason why we hesitated at first to bring the ATS into searchlights was to do with location: ack-ack batteries are a long way from HQ and other amenities. You could be expected to get your own meals, and to manage such things as washing your own uniforms, et cetera. But obviously it won’t suit everyone, and since we would prefer volunteers to pressed men it is important that you think carefully before agreeing to take on this most arduous task.’ His keen gaze travelled slowly from face to face, and when he spoke again his voice was far more relaxed and friendly. ‘Well, young ladies? You will be issued with extra clothing: when women were first brought into the army it was assumed that they would not have to face inclement weather conditions. And of course, though in time women will take the positions of command in the searchlight batteries, at first the more senior positions will be filled by men.’ Once more his keen gaze swept the audience sitting before him, and once again that slow and very attractive smile softened his features. ‘It is very gratifying to see that it would be quicker to take the names of those not interested in being re-mustered than to record those willing to undertake what I have to tell you could be a dangerous trade. Anyone not wishing to re-muster to the ack-ack battery section, please raise your hand.’

  A subdued chuckle ran along the ranks a moment later as the captain said drily: ‘Sergeant! Have you made a note of the names of those not wishing to re-muster?’

  Everyone laughed as the sergeant, grinning sheepishly, said that he had done so, but Glenys had thought of another question and raised her hand again, catching the captain’s eye and speaking quickly, before he could give the command to dismiss. ‘Please, Captain Dorrington, since we may be seconded to remote places and will obviously have to rely upon one another far more than we do now, will it be possible for friends and colleagues to stay together?’

  She half expected a freezing set-down, but instead he nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged. Any more questions?’

  There were none, and upon being dismissed the girls congregated in small groups outside their huts. ‘I just hope, when we finish our training, we can get a few days’ leave,’ a tall, athletic girl said hopefully. ‘My home’s in Devon, and I’ve not been able to get to see my parents once since I joined.’ She turned to Glenys. ‘What do you think? I heard you talking in the Mess the other day and you’ve not been home either, have you?’

  Glenys hesitated, not wanting to have to explain that she had no desire to return to the farm, but Jane, the only person there who knew she was a foundling, cut in quickly. ‘Well, unless they post us to the Outer Hebrides, we ought to be able to visit our families more often. I dare say it’s true that the army is much meaner with our time than the air force or the Navy, but most of us have been in at least a year and that’s a long time to go without seeing family and friends.’

  The pretty red-headed Maisie hugged herself. ‘My folk live in Penzance. We’re a family with a tradition of going into the Navy, so Mum and Dad are used to my brothers being at sea for long periods, but I must say they grumbled when the army didn’t let me go home. What good is a forty-eight when you’re trying to get from Newcastle to Penzance? Oh, well, I suppose it’s all part of being at war. And Lucy there . . .’ she indicated a serious, dark-haired girl who had just turned from another conversation, having heard her name, ‘Lucy was brought up by an aunt she doesn’t like, so they’re both positively grateful to the army for keeping them apart.’ She raised her voice. �
��Isn’t that so, Lucy?’

  The dark-haired girl smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, Aunt is glad of any excuse which keeps me at one end of the country and her at the other,’ she said. ‘But what do you think about all this, girls? I did wonder whether the army was thinking of girls on the ack-ack batteries when we took those intelligence and physical tests. I mean, look at the Waafs! I’ve watched the girls on the balloon site and they cope without the help of any men, and cope very well, too. But look, from what the captain said it sounds as though there’s a chance that if we go to the basic training in groups, we might actually re-muster in a group as well. Let’s put all our names together – the girls from this hut, I mean – and see if we can at least begin our new careers together. The army can only say no, after all.’

  Jane and Glenys – and the rest of their battery – enjoyed the training and felt at the end of it that they were now capable of handling anything the service might throw at them. They learned how to spot an enemy plane from the others criss-crossing the sky above them, to manoeuvre the long arm which controlled the elevation and movements of their searchlight, to receive and relay information using a head and chest radio set, and to operate the generator. When the postings came through Jane and Glenys hugged one another, for they had both been posted to the same battery, but when Glenys took a closer look she hissed in her breath. No. 94 battery, on the outskirts of Liverpool, was to be their new home.

  They had received their posting in the normal way, via the bulletin board in the Mess, and one glance was enough to show them that the whole of their training group had been posted on the same day. There was a general feeling of satisfaction. Virtually everyone in their section had been posted to the surroundings of a city south of Newcastle, so it would be quite simple to travel together. ‘It’ll seem odd going by train and not driving ourselves,’ Jane confided, when she and Glenys went to their hut to start packing. ‘Personally, I was expecting to go to London, but of course the Huns’ main objective now is to hit the ports so hard that shipping can no longer be relied upon.’ She sighed, and Glenys remembered that before the war Jane’s boyfriend Paul had sailed from Liverpool. She had quite envied Jane the affections of the tall, friendly officer, who was first lieutenant on one of the flower class corvettes. But only a matter of days earlier Jane had received a letter from him telling her that his corvette had been torpedoed. He was safe, having been picked up by a cruiser, but he thought it only fair to tell her that he had, whilst in hospital ashore, met Someone Else, a nurse named Marilyn, and they meant to marry before he put to sea again. The news had knocked Jane sideways. She told Glenys she had never dreamed that Paul might fall in love with another; all her fears had been that he might be killed in action, and now she had to face a new enemy: jealousy. She and Paul had known one another since childhood, and even to think of going out with anyone else would have seemed, to her, like infidelity. Both sets of parents were saving up so that as soon as their son and daughter got leave together they could host a grand betrothal party . . . perhaps even a wedding. Now, Jane told her friend miserably, she would have to break the news to them, for she was pretty sure that Paul would duck out of admitting what he had done for as long as possible.

  ‘I always knew he was beautiful but weak,’ she had confessed. ‘But I told myself he would change, grow more responsible. Well, perhaps he has – after all, being torpedoed, and wounded in action, whilst your erstwhile companions drowned, is enough to make anyone, after thanking God for their deliverance, take life a bit more seriously.’

  Glenys had sympathised in every way with her friend’s distress, but could not help pointing out that Jane had had a lucky escape. ‘And now you’ll be able to accept invitations to go to the NAAFI dances and so on,’ she had said. ‘In fact, as soon as we settle into our new batteries and have a night off, we’ll go to the local dance hall – there are lots in Liverpool – and see whether we can find ourselves a dashing officer or possibly even a handsome Spitfire pilot apiece.’

  But that had been before they had actually reached their new home, and when they did so, and had settled into the hut previously shared by fourteen men, they realised that airy talk of going to dances was airy indeed. Buses ran from the camp to the battery, and no doubt as they settled in they would find others equally determined to find some way of entertaining themselves, but they were a long way from the city centre and at first they were too busy with their new work to even think about trying to get there.

  Glenys was sitting at a table in the cookhouse, writing a letter to Mo, when Jane walloped her in the back and peered over her shoulder. ‘What on earth are you finding to write home about?’ she asked. ‘You never get any letters back – oh, and I can tell you why not. It’s because you don’t put your address at the top of the page. What a halfwit you are!’

  Taken off guard, Glenys stared at her for a moment and then, most unexpectedly, burst into tears.

  Jane stared wide-eyed, and took a cautious glance around the room before sitting down at the table opposite her friend. ‘Hush!’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t make a scene; everyone’s staring at us.’ She glanced out of the window; the sun was shining and a gentle breeze moved the branches of a tree nearby. ‘Let’s go for a walk and you can tell me all about it.’

  And as soon as they were alone the whole story came tumbling out, all about Sam and the children, Nain and Taid, and Weathercock Farm. Jane was fascinated and told Glenys, frankly, to stop being such an idiot. ‘How can you be so foolish?’ she said. ‘Of course you must give them your address. Oh, Glenys, think of that poor little girl, longing to tell you how she’s getting on. It’s downright cruel.’

  Glenys shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘You don’t understand; if I give them my address they’ll think it’s because I want Sam to come after me, and I don’t.’

  Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘Was this Sam Trewin your feller?’ she asked. ‘Why do you care if he comes after you, if he’s no more than a friend? Come on, spit it out.’

  Fortunately for Glenys, at that moment Jane spotted the truck which was waiting to pick up anyone who wanted to go into the city, and grabbed her arm. ‘Look, the liberty truck. If we run we can catch it. That’s why I was coming to find you. I know you wanted to see Mr Smith Goes to Washington, so why not come with me? But first stop messing about and put your address at the top of that letter. Honestly, Glenys, you’re so sensible in other ways and so silly in others.’ As she spoke the driver of the liberty truck revved the engine, and though the girls ran they did not make it in time to get aboard.

  ‘Damn, damn and damn again,’ Jane said wrathfully, slowing to a halt as the truck careered out of the gates. ‘And I really did want to see that film.’

  Someone dug Jane in the ribs and she turned to glower at Jack Keithley, their corporal. ‘Don’t,’ she said crossly. ‘We’ve missed the perishin’ bus because Private Trent is a twerp, and there isn’t a service bus into the city which would get us there in time to see our film.’

  ‘Ho yes there is, in a manner of speaking,’ the corporal said placidly. ‘I’ve got a pal with a share in an old bullnose Morris; he came by to pick me up because we want to see Stagecoach at the Forum. Fancy a lift, young ladies?’

  Jane, always at ease with the men on the battery, immediately accepted the invitation for them both. ‘Only who’s your friend?’ she asked rather suspiciously. ‘Not that ferrety little fellow with the ginger hair and the squint?’

  The corporal laughed, but shook his head. ‘No, it’s not Sandy. He’s a married man; his wife’s a Waaf, didn’t you know? And just to have everything plain and above board, neither I nor Lance Corporal Rigby is married. So you can come with us without strings, as they say. All right?’

  Just then the bullnose Morris drew up outside the gates and the driver got out, and both girls recognised the darkly handsome young man who had recently joined their battery. There had been much speculation amongst the searchlight crew, and the girls realised that if they acc
epted the corporal’s kind invitation they would be the envy of the section.

  Glenys opened her mouth to ask Jane what she thought, but Jane was already speaking. ‘It’s very good of you and we do appreciate it,’ she said gratefully. She grinned cheekily at both men. ‘I notice you haven’t queried our marital status. But as it happens we’re as single as you like; a couple of innocents abroad, that’s us.’

  ‘Well, I am relieved,’ Corporal Keithley said sarcastically, helping the girls into the back seat of the Morris. ‘No one wants to sit in the front? Off we go then, young Rigby, and let’s hope the films are as good as they’re cracked up to be.’

  Chapter 18

  GLENYS AWOKE WHEN the sun, slanting through the window of the Nissen hut, fell across her face. For a moment she just lay where she was, curled up in her bunk, but then she glanced at her alarm clock, whose face read five fifteen. She smiled to herself. Reveille would not be sounded for another forty-five minutes, so she might as well go back to sleep. After all, the only thing she had to look forward to was brekker in the cookhouse – porridge or cereal, burnt toast and a smear of – yuck – marrow jam.

  Glenys pulled the blankets up, but after five minutes she pushed them down again. After brekker came drill on the parade ground, and since the sun was shining and spring had well and truly sprung she might as well get up and have a quick wash, then have a wander round until it was time to go to the cookhouse. Or she could take advantage of her early rising and bag a shower, but what chance was there that the water would, for once, be hot?